


And A Few More of Your Least Favorite Things

by maydayparade8123



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, this is more of an 'you're so annoying but i'll tolerate you' type thing, this isn't even a friendship fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:03:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maydayparade8123/pseuds/maydayparade8123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>If she’s being honest… well, Annabeth isn’t really sure why she hates him. It’s simply this indescribable, deep seated hatred that makes her eyes see red and her pulse rocket. Everytime he takes a breath, she wants to be the one to make sure he doesn’t take another one.</i>
</p>
<p>OR - the one where Annabeth hates Percy, and fate decides to seat them beside each other on an 8 hour flight to Paris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And A Few More of Your Least Favorite Things

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this over the span of... a very long time
> 
> vague as that is, keep in mind that this probably isn't my best work. not my worst, but not my best. there's a lot of inconsistencies.
> 
> nonetheless, i hope you enjoy! the title is from build god then we'll talk by p!atd

;;;

If she’s being honest… well, Annabeth isn’t really sure  _why_  she hates him. It’s simply this indescribable, deep seated hatred that makes her eyes see red and her pulse rocket. Everytime he takes a breath, she wants to be the one to make sure he doesn’t take another one.

So,  _maybe_  it’s a little uncalled for, but everyone has that person. That one person who didn’t do a single thing to you, but they still make your skin itch with unsaid invectives and unthrown punches.

She hates Percy Jackson so much she can’t see straight, is the bottom line. He’s overly unctuous and happy about everything. Just last year, his swim team had placed  _fifth_  in the state. He talked about it for months, like they’d won national levels.

The worst part is that everyone around him loves him. Even Annabeth’s  _friends_  have gone to the unspeakable side with ‘ _Percy’s alright_ 's and ' _He’s cool_ 's.

He is neither alright nor cool, Annabeth knows for a fact, but it appears that she’s surrounded by imbeciles. Ones who don’t see the evil practically seeping out of his skin with every perfect smile he gives. Ones who don’t see the way he buys lunch everyday and eats all of it, probably to feed the small demons hiding in his stupid body. Ones who don’t see the satanic meaning of that stupid tattoo he just got. (It says “ _some of us are looking at the stars_ " on the left side of his chest, just underneath his collarbone. And that’s not her favorite Oscar Wilde quote. At least not anymore.)

Due to her loathing for him, she typically makes it her personal mission to never say more than two words to him per week. Which somewhat explains why she’s glaring holes in the side of his head right now.

"Annabeth? Annabeth…? Oh, there you are! Do you have your ID and your passport?"

Annabeth takes a break from mentally hanging Percy Jackson from a ceiling fan. “Yes ma’am, it’s all right here.”

"Good, good," Mrs. Vecchins says, handing Annabeth another sheet of paper. "This is your plane ticket. You’ll hopefully be sitting by someone in the class and not a stranger, if the lady booked them right."

Annabeth smiles gratefully and Mrs. Vecchins starts calling out another student’s name.

When Annabeth signed up for French, she was well aware that they would take a field trip to Paris, so long as she took French III. However, she didn’t know that stupid Percy Jackson was 1/8th French, ardent about the language and it’s culture, and very much determined to ruin Annabeth’s field trip by existing.

She goes back to glaring at him.

;;

It doesn’t take long for Annabeth to find her seat, despite only being on a plane once before when she was seven. She remembers thinking that flying was cool at the time, but that was long before she understood the concept of heights and the probability of her imminent death.

She pushes her duffle into the carry on spot, extracting her phone and her headphones before taking her seat. Annabeth spares a casual glance around her, hoping to find out who she’s sitting next to through the process of elimination.

She sees her friend Rachel already sitting down, luckily next to her best friend. Olivia, or something. She spots all the rest of the people she considers friends sitting or making a beeline for their seat, and none of them are remotely close to her.

There’s one person heading Annabeth’s way, but there’s no way Annabeth has  _that_  kind of luck. She quickly glances over her shoulder and sees at least ten empty seats. There’s hope, and she clings to it like a child clings to their blanket. “Hey, Annabeth.”

_God fucking dammit mother of shit ass dick fuck hell_ , is what her mind comes up with. “Hi, Percy,” she manages. Her smile hopefully comes across as a grimace. “So, you’re next to me.”

Percy nods, and he lifts up a backpack to put into the carry on cabinet. If Annabeth can’t stop looking at the sliver of skin between his sweatpants and his shirt, it’s her business. But she doesn’t. So. “Ready for Paris?”

"Born ready," Annabeth answers shortly.

Percy laughs next to her, and it sounds like a giggle. She faces the window simply so she can roll her eyes. “That’s not true, though. You only started French three years ago.”

"Oh, yeah, my mistake, sorry," Annabeth says sarcastically, twisting her headphones in her hands. Her skin is crawling. She  _hates_  him.

Percy goes quiet after that, and she breathes a not-so-silent sigh of relief.  _Stay like this the whole flight, for the love of all that is holy and blessed in this world_ , is what she tries to send to him telepathically.

He doesn’t get the message. Annabeth blames the fact that his brain cells are probably much less advanced than hers. “So, have you flown before?”

"Yep."

"I haven’t," Percy admits, fidgeting with the bracelet on his wrist. It says ‘I am not alone’ on it, and Annabeth would probably find it to be a cool statement on anyone else. “‘M a little nervous."

"That sucks," Annabeth deadpans.

Percy laughs beside her, shifting in his seat. His arm brushes hers and Annabeth pulls away like he burned her, but it’s more like she’s scared his stupidity will rub off on her. He raises an amused eyebrow. “Really? This  _still_?”

Annabeth narrows her eyes and gives a sharp nod.

"I’ll never understand what it is about me you hate," he grumbles, crossing his arms, suddenly edgy. "I’ve never done anything to you."

"You exist," Annabeth spits out, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, yeah, I’ll get right on not doing that," he says mockingly, rolling his eyes. " _Christ_.”

"Keep saying the Lord’s name in vain, that’ll help," she hisses.

"You’re an Atheist," he points out, and Annabeth doesn’t want to know how he knows that. Probably some antichrist thing; he automatically knows your religion.

"I’m not," Annabeth lies, just to disagree.

Percy shrugs. “Alright.”

She scowls at him, then snaps her head towards the window. She’s not facing him until they land in Paris.

;;

By the time a woman begins her customary spiel about safety over the loudspeaker, Annabeth is ready to get the stupid 8-hour flight over with.

Percy’s decided that the armrest is his and his alone. He’s gotten up twice to get things out of his backpack, and Annabeth forces herself to keep her eyes on the window, because staring at Percy isn’t something she plans on doing. Even if he has this freckle on his hip that she thinks is cute—-or  _would_ be. On any other boy.

It’s only when the woman announces that everyone should put their seatbelts on that Annabeth feels a rush of panic. She pushes it down, but Percy starts tapping his fingers restlessly.

"Can you stop, please?" She huffs in irritation, angling her body as far away from him as you can.

"Nervous," he breathes out, twisting his bracelet around his wrist. "What if we die?"

_At least I won’t be sitting next to you on a plane anymore_ , Annabeth thinks. “We won’t,” she says, because apparently reassuring Percy Jackson is a thing she does now.

"Yeah?" he asks, and he’s gripping the armrest so tight that his knuckles have gone white.

"We won’t die, the statistical probability it one in a thousand," she says, and it’s probably a lie, but it seems to relax him.

She figures she’s done her good deed for the day, so she returns to her silent seething. Percy is still tense, and Annabeth allows herself a pinch of sympathy. A  _pinch_. More like a grain of sand.

She maintains her cool up until the moment they’re in the air, and that’s when her hand slams down on the armrest. She’s holding Percy’s wrist so tight she might break it ( _good_ , she thinks,  _good_ ) and her stomach drops.

"I thought you said you’ve flown before," Percy grits out.

"Doesn’t mean it’s any less scary," she says. Then, feeling the need to justify herself, she adds, "I flew once, when I was seven."

The plane jerks the slightest bit, and Annabeth clamps down on his wrist with renewed fervor. “Ouch,” he mutters.

"Sorry," Annabeth replies, but she isn’t. Not really.

She tries to refocus her attention. The sky looks nice, she guesses, but it makes her feel lightheaded when she sees how high up they are. Percy’s biting his lip and still holding tight to the armrest. His arm is weirdly warm beneath hers. It’s probably from spending so much time in hell, considering that he’s the devil.

Eventually, the plane stops inclining and evens off. Annabeth breathes out and pulls her hand off Percy’s arm.

"That wasn’t awful," he comments. Annabeth hums in response and waits for the stewardess to tell her she’s allowed to use her phone.

;;

They’ve been flying for barely an hour when Percy taps her shoulder. She tears a headphone out with thinly veiled irritation. “ _Yes_?”

"Do you know what time we’re landing?"

"No," she answers.

"Okay," he says, sounding confused. He looks away, and Annabeth already has one headphone back in when he starts speaking again. "Alright. I have to ask. Why do you hate me?"

Annabeth wipes all expression off her face. “Reasons.”

"Well, we’ve got hours on this flight, so you have all the time in the world to tell me." He leans closer to her like he’s settling in for a good story, and Annabeth backs away reflexively.

"I don’t have to answer to you," she snarls, leering at him.

"No," he admits, "but it’d be nice, seeing as I’m nothing but nice to you, and you look at me like I’m the antichrist."

Annabeth pointedly puts her headphones in and ignores him. He keeps talking, though, and she can hardly hear him over the crooning of Chris Martin.

"I just don’t get it. I feel like we could really get along, but you act like it physically pains you to be around me," he rambles. "I mean, I know I’m not, like, the nicest guy around but I think I’m alright. Most people seem to like me, anyways, or at least  _tolerate_  me.”

"I’m tolerating you right now," Annabeth says through clenched teeth.

"Barely," he scoffs. He stays quiet, and Annabeth is thanking the heavens above, but then—- "Annabeth, I don’t hate you. I don’t even dislike you, you know."

She closes her eyes and leans her head against the cold window, because pretending she’s asleep is easier than thinking about what he said.

He lays off after that, settles into his seat and flips through the in-flight magazines they have. She keeps her eyes closed and ignores the way his knee knocks against hers every few seconds.

Then Annabeth starts to think. She tries to pinpoint the reason—-or reasons, rather—-she hates him.

She thinks for what feels like hours; tries her hardest to find an answer, if only to soothe her own conscious.

When she comes up empty, she almost feels guilty. Then she realizes she’s just thirsty.

She opens her eyes slowly, side-eyeing Percy. He’s staring down at his phone, playing a game. “How do we call the stewardess?” Annabeth mutters to herself, scanning the buttons above her.

"Why do you need her?" Percy questions, hardly glancing up from his phone.

"Water," she mumbles, raising her hand to tap a button that looks promising.

"Don’t bother them," Percy tells her, standing up. "I have one. Got two earlier."

"It’s fine," Annabeth says too quickly. She doesn’t need anything from him.

He rolls his eyes, pulling her arm down with something like exasperation. “Look, it’s not going to kill you to take a free, unopened water bottle from me.”

He hands it to her, and Annabeth stares at his hand curled around a bottle. If she takes it, she has a feeling it’ll seem like a truce. Her thirst wins out. She takes the bottle. “This doesn’t mean I hate you any less.”

"I would expect as much," is all he says before he goes back to his game.

And… Annabeth doesn’t know if she likes that. Because usually  _she_ 's the one dismissing people, not the one being dismissed. “Thank you,” she adds.

He hums in response. She glares at him for good measure before she drinks a sip of it. The water doesn’t  _taste_  poisoned, at least, so she decides to keep it.

“So,” she entreats, coughing a little. “What’s with the tattoo?”

Percy gives her a weird look, as if to say ‘ _why are you talking to me?_ ’ She doesn’t know the answer, so she doesn’t meet his eyes. He sits up straight, and Annabeth is so prepared. She’s so ready to hear the whole, ‘well, first of all, I was drunk’ introduction. This is one story she cares about. “Um, it’s just. Sometimes my mom used to say it to me. And I just like the way it sounds, I guess.”

“It’s stupid,” Annabeth says, but she doesn’t really sound like she means it. She’s a little disappointed at the story, or lack thereof, but life is full of disappointments. Such as sitting far away from your friends and right next to your enemy on an 8-hour flight.

Percy nods. “I’m sure I’ll regret it at the ripe age of, oh, twenty.”

She even cracks a smile at that. “But, I mean, at least it meant something to you at some point, right? And isn’t that the point of tattoos?”

He grins a little, nodding once. “That’s what I think.”

“Just to be clear, it’s still stupid,” Annabeth says, holding up her hand, “ _but_ , I admire the sentiment.”

“Thanks,” Percy answers flatly. He goes back to his game.

She takes another sip of the water, sending a spiteful glance at the spot where she knows the tattoo is. She’s a little jealous, if she thinks about it; jealous that he had the guts to go out and do it. She’d probably shy away from something so permanent.

Annabeth puts her headphones back in. Her skin isn’t even crawling anymore, is the worst part.

;;

After that, it’s a little easier to breathe. She feels like she’s made her point as far as hating him goes, and Percy seems to have gotten over it easily enough. He takes to criticizing her music library when he can manage to catch snippets of the tune when her volume is up too loud. She takes to criticizing him in general.

“Ugh, you would be the kind to listen to The Beatles,” he groans. “So pretentious.”

“And you would be the kind to think that ‘listening to The Beatles’ is a synonym for ‘pretentious’,” Annabeth huffs. “I like their music. I’m not listening to it because it’s cool to do so, and even if I was, does it matter?”

“It doesn’t,” Percy relents, cocking his head to the side. “But I’m trying this thing I’ve gotten from you. You know, looking for reasons to hate people. I like it so far.”

She narrows her eyes at him, frowning. “I don’t really have to look that hard,” she snaps, tapping her phone until it lands on an angrier song.

“I’m just going to start assuming everything you say about me is the complete opposite,” Percy responds lazily, scratching his chest. “It’ll be this giant ego boost.”

“You’re stupid,” Annabeth spits out before she can stop herself. And he is. He’s really stupid. The hem of his shirt has risen, and Annabeth can see the tan skin of hisstomach. She feels like retching, or something like that.

“I’m smart,” Percy states. “Wonderful.”

“No, you aren’t,” she persists, turning her music up even louder. “You’re annoying.”

“I’m pleasent to be around,” he answers mildly. “Interesting.”

“You’re the greatest person I’ve ever been around, really,” she practically snarls. “I’m surprised they haven’t built monuments for you.”

Instead of repeating back the opposite like Annabeth expects, Percy smiles smugly. “Could you repeat that again? I’d like to have it on tape for future reference.”

It takes her a few seconds the realize she’s been tricked and that… That simply  _does not_  happen in Annabeth’s world. She’s always the one outsmarting the enemy; always the one who wins. Her skin is crawling again, and Percy’s shirt keeps drifting further up. “Can you please pull your shirt down? It’s public indecency.”

“‘Can you please take your shirt off?’ is all I heard,” Percy replies with a laugh, but he fixes his attire anyways. “Anything else you want to say?”

“Keep talking and I’ll kill you in your sleep,” she answers without a hint of teasing in her voice.

Percy seems amused. “Well, what’s the opposite of that. Keep talking and I’ll let you live in your sleep? Keep talking or I’ll kiss you in your sleep?”

Annabeth doesn’t blush at the implication, but she does turn her music up to full blast. She doesn’t even know what song it is, but it’s loud and angry and all she wants right now.

;;

She must nod off at some point, because when she wakes up there’s a hesitant hand on her shoulder that’s shaking her to consciousness. She shoves it away on reflex and shuffles closer to her pillow. Surely it’s too early for school and—

Annabeth is on a plane.

She doesn’t have a pillow.

She shoots up with surprisingly good reflexes, what with being asleep less than, oh, ten seconds ago. “What?” Annabeth asks, stretching in the small amount of room she has. She decides to ignore the fact that she had been using Percy’s shoulder as a makeshift pillow.

“Nothing, I just think they’re coming around with food soon and I wanted you to be awake for it,” he says, the smallest bit softer than his typical voice. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Thanks,” she answers, searching for her phone all around her seat.

“It’s in there,” Percy tells her, gesturing to the pocket on the back of the seat before her. “You, uh… It fell. So I picked it up.”

“Thanks,” she grunts,  _again_. She doesn’t like having to say it, especially to him.

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably.

“Are you okay?” Annabeth asks, still sleepy and still irritated.

“You, um… You smell like lemons. It’s weird, because, like, my mom smells like lemons,” he mumbles, pinching the fabric of his sweatpants between his thumb and his forefinger.

“We probably just use the same shampoo,” she says slowly, because she really isn’t seeing the problem here. Well, besides the fact that Percy was close enough to her that he could smell her hair. That bit’s a little disturbing.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he says, nodding along.

“You’re weird.”

“Oh, so now I’m  _cool_?”

Annabeth gives him a desert dry look and promptly ignores him.

;;

The food is about as good as airplane food gets, which means just barely edible. It doesn’t help that her school booked one of the cheapest flights available, hoping to minimize costs. She pokes at her questionable sandwich and decides she can survive a few more hours on the peanuts the airline offers.

“This doesn’t look safe,” Percy declares, pushing his food off to the side.

“Yeah, I’m probably not eating mine.”

“A wise decision. I’m going to lie and say I’m feeling nauseous so they don’t get offended.”

“I’m going to tell the  _truth_ and say I’m feeling nauseous,” Annabeth says, taking a sip from the weird, fizzy orange drink they gave her.

Percy gives her a wide-eyed glance. “Are you really feeling nauseous? Because we can switch seats if you want, that way you can get to the—”

“I feel nauseous because I have to sit next to  _you_ , not because of the flight,” Annabeth informs him, rolling her eyes.

“Am I really  _that_  bad?” he asks, and he sounds offended, but when she spares him a glance, he’s grinning.

“Yes,” she answers simply, and she hates the way her mouth threatens to twitch into a grin, too.

“Which means ‘no’, in your language,” Percy muses. “Which means I’m not  _really_  that bad.”

“Whoever you got this theory about me saying the opposite of what I mean from is wrong.”

“I got it from myself.” He shrugs, resigned. “And you probably think everything I say is wrong, anyways, so I’m not too bothered.”

Annabeth blinks at him. He taps away at his phone, glancing up when he notices her prolonged silence. If she hated him before the flight, it’s only worse now, because he  _challenges_ her. Or steps up to the plate easily enough when she challenges him. Annabeth’s used to people dropping the bat and running in the other direction, and far, far away from her.

He meets her gaze, albeit in a confused manner, and she waits. She waits, because everyone is intimidated by her at some point, and there’s no way Percy Jackson is getting off this plane unscathed. “Are you alright?”

She scowls at him. “Stop staring at me.”

“You were staring first,” he replies in a bored voice, and  _yes_ , Annabeth was, but she needs him to back down.

“But you’re the one still staring,” she points out.

Percy looks away and rolls his eyes like he’s the tiredest human on Earth. He mutters something under his breath that Annabeth doesn’t catch over the beat of her pulse in her ears. She hates him. And now he’s gotten her blood pressure up. “Now that we’re friends, do you know what time we’ll land?”

“We aren’t friends.”

“So we  _are_  friends!”

She gives him a withering gaze and pulls up one of the shitty airline movies they offer.

;;

Halfway through some hour long film Annabeth chose from the not-so-extensive list, Percy nods off.

He moves a lot in his sleep, which would probably be irritating  _period_  but proves to be exceptionally bothersome on a plane where room is extremely limited. He’s also mumbled twice, both indiscernible things, and Percy has a lot of facial expressions in his sleep. It’s somewhat like watching a silent movie, except for the part where Annabeth isn’t watching. At all.

At some point, he stops shifting every five minutes and seems to get comfortable in his seat. When she glances— _glances_ —at his face, he’s smiling softly. And he’s quiet, and he’s still, and… it’s the most peaceful Annabeth’s been throughout the duration of the entire flight. And it’s probably not because of the way he’s at peace. Probably leaning more in the ‘ _he finally shut up_ ’ direction. Yeah.

(He’s also drooling the slightest bit, and Annabeth tries to stare at is as distastefully as possible, but she doesn’t think she plays the part that well. It kind of reminds her of her little brothers, which makes it a little cute.)

She’s just finished off the movie when he shifts in his sleep, leaving one of his feet pressing up right against hers. And if she doesn’t move away, well, only the crumbs on the floor know.

He wakes up around fifteen minutes later when Annabeth shoves his shoulder. The stewardess has been gently saying, “Sir” for around two minutes, and Annabeth only has so much patience.

Percy groans irritatedly, rubbing his forehead. “Mhm?”

"Would you like a drink?"

His hair is in every direction possible, and he’s still blinking the sleepiness away. “No, it”s fine. Thanks, though.”

She nods and moves along to the next person, and Percy sighs. “Tired?” Annabeth asks, because apparently her tongue has decided to move without her permission.

She purses her lips tightly and Percy raises a confused eyebrow. “Yeah, a bit.” He wipes his mouth. “Oh, God, I’m so gross.”

Annabeth doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but she can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of her throat. It’s not long before Percy laughs along, and there they are. Laughing together.

_It’s midnight_ , Annabeth thinks.  _Weirder things have happened at midnight._

"Ugh," Percy grunts. "Now I won’t sleep properly for the rest of the night."

Annabeth hums sympathetically. “Yeah, I haven’t been able to get much sleep either. A little anxious, I guess.”

Percy nods in understanding, and for some reason this is easy. Annabeth isn’t sure why. “Yeah, I get that. I’m more of a ‘sleep ‘til the storm passes’ kind of guy.”

"I figured," Annabeth says.

He fidgets, pulls at the pages of a magazine in the pocket in front of him. “Yeah? Did you figure anything else out? Like, uh… Why you don’t like me, maybe?”

“ _Hate_ ,” Annabeth corrects, but for some reason she’s smiling. “And no.”

Percy smiles a little, too, and he gives her a once-over. “Alright, then.”

"Alright."

"Cool."

"Yep."

He grins, a little too bright for the dim lighting of the plane. “Yeah.”

;;

For some reason, they get into a debate about what is  _truly_  the best Disney movie. Their reasoning isn’t half bad, and if Annabeth were in her right mind she’d probably be taking it down as a potential essay topic.

“You would like Snow White,” Percy says, rolling his eyes. “She’s boring. Didn’t she, like, eat the dwarves in the original tale? Now  _that_  would have been a story.”

“It’s  _Disney_!” Annabeth half-shouts. “People can’t eat other people in Disney movies.”

“Boring.”

“You’re boring,” she scoffs, and it’s a weak comeback, really, but hey. She’s partially sleep deprived and she’s been sitting in an uncomfortable seat for hours, so it’s the best she can do. “Um, so… You ready for Paris?”

"A bit worried about my so-called fluency in French, but yeah," he replies, chuckling. "I don’t really travel much."

"I’ve been around the States, but never out of the country." She looks out the window for a few seconds, and realizes that the height doesn’t bother her as much anymore.

"That’s cool," Percy says politely. "I’ve been in New York my entire life."

"Really?"

He nods. “Mom gets nervous with traveling. She thinks it’s dangerous.”

"Probably no more dangerous than living in New York," Annabeth comments. "What all do you want to do in Paris?"

"See the Eiffel Tower," Percy lists, "obviously. I’d love to make a French friend. I’d also like to eat French fries, because, you know,  _France_. Uh… It’d be cool to kiss someone. City of Love, I guess. Everything else is pretty much on the itinerary. You?”

Annabeth thinks for a second. “I think you covered all of mine.”

"Isn’t this nice? Being civil? Breathing my air without cringing? Sitting beside me without thinking you’d rather endure acupuncture? Holding a conversation without—-?"

"Okay, I get it," Annabeth mutters. "You’ve made your point."

Percy seems pleased. “So. Is it?”

“What?”

“Is it nice?” he asks, not meeting her eyes.

“It’s not  _awful_ ,” Annabeth allows.

Percy nods slowly. “But you still don’t like me.”

“I still  _hate_  you,” she says. “But I guess you aren’t as repulsive as you were at the start of the flight.”

“Ah, progress,” Percy breathes out. And Annabeth doesn’t laugh, but maybe she turns towards the window to hide her smile. Or something. “So, you like Coldplay.”

“So, you like eavesdropping on people’s music choices,” Annabeth answers, in the same conversational tone Percy had adopted.

“I was admittedly enjoying that whole ‘conversation’ thing we had going,” Percy tells her drily.

She doesn’t really like the sound of that, so she thinks about his original statement. “Yes, I like Coldplay. Doesn’t everyone, though?”

“Some people say they’re too moody.”

  
  
“Do  _you_  say that?” Annabeth asks, because this is a make-it-or-break-it type thing. She’ll probably ask Percy to move seats for the remainder of the flight if he disses Coldplay. It’s just a thing that you don’t do.

“No, I love them,” Percy says, shaking his head. “My mom says that, though.”

“Me and your mother can’t be friends, then,” Annabeth announces. (Maybe she turns down her music a little more, because she’s straining a little to hear Percy. But probably not. Because she still doesn’t care about what he has to say.)

He frowns a little. “Hey, no, my mom is the best person on Earth. She’s friends with everyone.”

Annabeth doesn’t know what to say to that, so she fumbles with her headphone wires for a few seconds. “So, you guys are close?”

Percy nods happily. “Yeah. Really close.”

“That’s… good.”

“Wow,” he says, with overstated shock. “Did you just say something  _positive_  towards me? I need to write this date down. I need to mark it on every calendar in the world. This should be an international holiday, let me—”

“Shut up.” And this time, she doesn’t even lie to herself. She turns to the window to hide a smile.

;;

“Welcome to Paris, France! The local time is 5:20 A.M. Please remain in your seats with seatbelts fastened until the seatbelt light is off. Use caution when retrieving your personal belongings from the overhead cabinets, and contents do shift during the flight. Thank you for flying with us today, and we hope you have a great time in Paris, France, or wherever your final destination may be!”

The only thing Annabeth can think about is standing up and stretching her legs. She waits until the seatbelt light finally flicks off, and stretches to her heart’s content.

Percy pulls both of their bags out of the carry-on shelf, handing hers over. “Ready to test out your fluency?”

“I’ve come to the conclusion that my French is garbage and all of these people will look at me like I’m stupid,” Annabeth says with a shrug. “I think I’ll just find someone really good at French and follow them around.”

Percy smiles at her. “I  _am_  1/8th French.”

Annabeth scoffs. “As if I’d follow you around.”

He nods like he expected the answer, then he clears his throat. “So, uh. You had 8 hours. Find the root of all hatred for me?”

_It’s probably your stupid face_ , is Annabeth’s first reaction, but she refuses to say that for a million reasons. The first of which being that it’s the weakest retort on Earth. “Yes,” she decides, after a few seconds. “You like that weird bubbly orange juice.”

Percy looks confused, but then he smiles slowly. “I knew the bubbly orange juice was a bad choice.”

She purses her lips, and it feels a lot like she’s trying not to smile herself. But that’s impossible. Or at least 80 percent unlikely. “An awful choice.”

“I’ll regret it as long as I live.” Percy adjusts the strap of his duffle bag and steps into the aisle, behind the majority of the other passengers.

Annabeth snorts. “Like that’s the only thing you should be regretting. Are you aware you don’t match in the  _slightest_?”

;;

(If she ends up in Percy’s group as they tour the city of Paris, maybe she’s not really as irritated as she seems.)

;;;

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr - maydayparade8123


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